Three Can Play At That Game
by kateofallpeople
Summary: A team given the task of capturing Death Eaters post-war has run out of intel. That changes when Draco presents a list with locations of the remaining sixty-four in hiding, with a few conditions: He'll be on all missions, be granted total Amnesty by the Ministry, and he'll only reveal information to Hermione Granger, in private. Her boyfriend, Ron, won't be too happy about this...
1. Chapter 1

Magical handcuffs were much less irritating than muggle ones - he liked that. He could turn his hands in reasonably large motions, releasing the stress on his wrists that the metal ones had caused. Being arrested, Draco thought, was not as fun as he'd thought it would be. And despite the fact that he'd broken no laws and refused to go into hiding with his father and Death Eater cronies, his attendant kept a stern gaze on him during the entire drive to the ministry and subsequent walk through the twisting hallways of the Ministry building. People pointed and stared - most believed he'd gone into hiding and was somewhere in Bulgaria by now. He was somewhere in the top two-hundred names on their Wanted list, though he didn't have any crimes associated with his name. It was just the association of his family, of course, that would land him there.

He couldn't help it - a timid looking little witch with bright gold hair was staring straight at him from her receptionists desk just steps away, and he grinned at her. Her eyes grew to the size of dinner plates as she dropped to the floor under her desk, apparently in fear. What was she so afraid of? A Malfoy? Well, not that anyone here would know that he was completely innocent of all charges - assault on Dumbledore, assisting the Dark Lord's armies the night of the final battle at Hogwarts, and more. The students present at the battle would know - half of them had personally seen him running as far from the conflict as humanly possible. Half of them would know that he never rejoined his parents at all, despite what they all thought. That same half might, by their own speculation, realize that Draco would inherit his family's entire fortune. That he'd sell the Manor and all bad memories attached to it.

And that half - along with the rest of the students and staff at Hogwarts, and now the entirety of the ministry, their friends and family, and by association everyone else in wizarding London - would now know that he'd gotten himself arrested and charged with misdemeanour public drunkenness. They'd all hear stories about how he'd been wandering the streets of London in broad daylight, shouting incoherent sentences and waving his arms. They'd hear about how he was arrested by the muggle police, their chief saw his name (as directed to look for by the ministry _months _ago) and contacted Aurors straightaway. They'd all retell this story for days, maybe weeks to come. But maybe not - a bigger story would take its place, another story involving Draco Malfoy. Because Draco had been arrested entirely on purpose - and the list of names and locations in his pocket would not only get his misdemeanour charge waived entirely, but would grant him the highest sort of Amnesty the ministry had.

Draco had planned this move for weeks. As soon as his list had grown to ten, he'd realized he could use it to allow himself a little peace and quiet. As that list had grown to twenty, then forty, and now sat at sixty-four names and locations, he knew what he had to do - what, really, he wanted to do - to turn them all in and let himself reap the benefits of being the tattle-tale. He'd always been good at that in school...

But Draco had not planned this next part. He had not planned that his release and freedom would come at an even greater price. And when new Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt handed over his conditions for Draco's release, he groaned. This was far from how he'd expected this to go. But he still had a tiny, tiny bit of bargaining room left.

* * *

"Wake up, you."

Hermione felt lips on her shoulder, trailing up towards her neck.

"We've got to get up. S'posed to be in our seats in an hour."

She groaned, rolling over. "I'm not going."

Ron chuckled. "'Course you are. You have to."

"Shut up." She covered her face with her pillow - well, Ron's pillow - and slowly slid to a sitting position. In the month and a half since the final battle, life had gone on, despite the worries of many witches and wizards. Through the mourning and the death a new attitude grew - the wizarding community was safe, and back in the right hands. And with those hands, the ministry intended to reshape what it was and what it once had been - under direction of Kingsley Shacklebolt - into the best sort of thing it could be.

Currently, however, ministry reform was not on Hermione's mind. Despite two separate trips to Australia, she was no closer to finding her parents. The house she'd grown up in was locked shut pending an investigation - the people who lived there, according to the muggles, had just gone and left town without selling it or anything. Hermione was only able to sneak in once, and just barely, to get her most important things from her room, a picture of her parents, and that was all. She and Harry were both staying at the Burrow - at least until they could get on their feet, though Molly insisted that they could practically live there, if they needed. Though, Molly didn't quite know that Hermione was spending most of her nights in Ron's room - not that they were doing anything, with Harry sleeping in the other bed of course, but mostly because they were in a relationship after all, and Hermione was having trouble sleeping these days.

Ron was wonderful - he really was. It had taken a war, abandonment, a lot of yelling, and that wondrous first kiss to get him to shape up, but he had. He was affectionate and kind, and she found that he was quite soft-spoken when it came to relationships. He didn't talk much about it, but when he did he was grateful and adoring. Not that he said any of this, of course, around Harry - which was why she was lucky to steal a few moments of him in the early mornings or late at night, tucked into bed in their pajamas with the sun rising through the window. The first two weeks had been blissful - complete peace. There was a love throughout the wizarding community that bonded them all. Complete peace, however, had been a little boring. The three of them were used to bad conditions, moving constantly, looking for Horcruxes and avoiding death. _That _had been an adventure. The story of their lifetime. But Hermione was feeling a little unsure in other matters, too - like Ron. She'd had a boyfriend before - Viktor, of course. But she'd been expecting this one to be different, more exciting, given their history. Only it didn't help matters at all. They'd been together a month and a half now, barely any time at all, but it already felt so _normal _to her. Life wasn't supposed to feel so normal at eighteen years old.

But then business began again, and Kingsley approached Harry, Hermione, Ron, and a handful of people who were mostly their age, to reveal as much as they could about the Death Eaters they'd known about. They would form a task force, meet twice weekly, and scrape their memories for every little detail they could remember. The trio, of course, had been inside Malfoy Manor. Harry had witnessed Dumbledore's death. Hermione, when dragged from the cellar of Malfoy Manor to be tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange, had seen many faces walking easily through the halls and doorways near her. They were making a list, checking it twice, and then the Aurors, the task force, and the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix were hunting down the remaining Death Eaters who had gone into hiding so that they could be put on formal trial and tossed in Azkaban for good.

In four weeks they hadn't done much - half of the Death Eaters that they did know about were dead, killed in the final battle. The other half were deep in hiding, or else had been under the Imperius curse - proven after a hefty dose of Veritaserum. At at the end of this fourth week, they seemed to be at a standstill. The last meeting had proved that they were at the ends of their ropes. There were still dozens of Death Eaters and vehement Voldemort supporters, but nobody in the group could think of a single new name.

Ron kissed her shoulder again. "Come on. Mum's going to come upstairs any minute now and you're not supposed to be in my bed. Not that I mind it..."

She grinned, swatting at him and sitting up. "No, but I can be in your room. I'll just stay here, Ginny's a foul creature in the mornings."

Harry rolled over, eyebrows knit. "Hey. That's my girlfriend you're talking about."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, well, _your girlfriend _is a foul creature in the mornings. A right Banshee."

Ron laughed, and even Harry cracked a smile. Hermione rolled from bed, sitting on the edge and leaning down to plant a chaste kiss on Ron's lips. He grinned at her, sitting up beside her and sliding an arm around her. As if on cue, two things happened - Ginny screamed something down the staircase at a tone that none of them could understand, and Molly came stomping up the stairs towards the bedrooms, shouting about breakfast at a volume she probably hoped was louder than Ginny. Somehow, as always, it was.

After a quick breakfast, showers, and a hurried twenty minutes of readying themselves for another four hours in the ministry building, Hermione pulled Harry and Ron aside just before they were due to floo in.

"I know this is good for everyone, but we haven't had new names in over a week. If we suddenly remember any, great, but I'd prefer to not spend my time bullied by a ministry note taker for names that we don't have any knowledge of. I'm thinking we should suggest disbanding. At least temporarily. To, oh, I don't know - take a break and get our heads on straight."

Harry nodded, and Ron gave a look of approval before speaking. "Yeah. I'd much rather sleep in right now anyway, and I can't remember a single other face without wanting to explode."

"Good thinking Hermione. We'll all bring it up." Harry patted her back, turning to Mrs. Weasley, who was calling for them all to get through the floo _now._

* * *

He could hear their voices through the door. The note-taker and Kingsley weren't in the room yet - both were standing directly in front of him, staring him down.

"No funny business, Draco. Or I'll have you _actually _arrested for resistance to comply with direct orders from your minister. Are we clear?"

"There are sixty-four names on my list, Kingsley. Names I know you want more than anything else. And even better, I think I can get you more names. I'll pull funny business if I damn well please, or I'll leave. This is my information to release, and though you may not _think _I have any idea what's legally allowable here, I'll fill you in on something - took a look at a few spare law books last night. Found a particularly interesting section about release of information written in 1720. States that this information is mine, and that I cannot be forced to release it under any circumstances. That if you try and force me, or attempt to lock me up and pressure me to give it up, _I _can actually charge _you _with wrongful imprisonment, intimidation of a witness, and unnecessary tactics in retrieving previously unknown evidence. Savvy?"

Kingsley gaped slightly, then shut his jaw. "Well, looks like you have done your homework. Smarter than your father, then."

At this, Draco gave a genuine chuckle. "_Everyone _is smarter than my father. Only smart thing he ever did was get himself locked up instead of getting himself killed. But he was too noble to release any of this information. Well, not me. I play dirty."

"Clearly." The look in Kingsley's eyes was not contemptuous, and Draco even thought he saw a smidgen of admiration there. After all, Draco was about to do the unthinkable - he was about to get every family member, every friend he'd ever known, locked up in Azkaban for life. If they ever escaped he was screwed - dead on the spot, likely - but measures were supposedly being taken against another breakout. Draco was doing something _good _for once. Yes, it was partially to save his own arse and to be, in a way, redeemed in the eye of the public. But more than that, Draco honestly believed in what he was doing. That's why he'd been planning it for so long, that's why he was in the ministry building today, standing behind the Minister for Magic himself and his trusty note-taker woman, preparing to enter a room full of people that still probably hated him just so that he could get them all to leave him alone.

He had no charges against him - even the public drunkenness was wiped from his record the second he told Kingsley his plan. The man was desperate to get these names in any way it took. And Draco only had one more condition, so far - he wanted to present his offer to the trio themselves, and to this little task force that had been swimming around the front page of the Prophet for so long. It would be his swan song, his final moment of blazing glory before he could get himself a nice place in the city and move on with life.

And then Kingsley opened the door, and Draco was able to peer past him at the bored-looking faces for just a moment. Harry had his head resting on the desk. Ron was turned against the door, into Hermione's shoulder. Hermione was resting her face in her hands. Ginny was sitting across the table looking irritated - though did she ever _not_? Luna Lovegood sat next to Ginny, and Neville on her other side, all looking bored. Percy Weasley sat at the head of the table, the only one looking alert and at-all excited for this meeting. George Weasley sat beside him, making pencils fly around his head with his wand. Lee Jordan sat on his other side, next to Harry, staring up at the ceiling. Clearly, they hadn't been told they'd have a guest today. The room was long and old, the walls were painted a dark green and supported and framed by dark woods. There was a large chandelier above the long, dark wood table at which they all sat, and high-backed tufted chairs in matching colors all around it.

"Attention, please."

The group stirred, turning in Kingsley's direction. They hadn't yet spotted him, and that wasn't good enough. Draco took a small side-step from behind the minister, and then all hell broke loose.

"You brought _HIM _into our meeting?"

"What is he doing here?!"

"I can't do this. I'm leaving."

"I won't be in the same _room _as that foul little git."

And lastly, making Draco laugh the most, was poor Ginny Weasley, a little thicker than some present. "Kingsley, look out, he's right behind you!"

Kingsley held up his hand, and one by one they stopped their stream of outrage until the room was silent again.

"Draco Malfoy is here on my orders, and completely on purpose. And in fact, after he tells you _why _he is here, some of you may beg him to stay. Draco?"

He took a step forward, around Kingsley, and slipped a bit of parchment out of his pocket. It wasn't the actual list, it was a blank sheet folded a few times, but it would be a symbolic thing until he agreed to fully hand over the list.

"This is a bit of parchment with the names and locations of sixty-four hidden Death Eaters and Dark Lord supporters. My mother's name is on that list, along with the Carrows, the Notts, the Goyles, the Crabbes, Antonin Dolohov, Thorfin Rowle, Augustus Rookwood, and if he is where I think he is, my own father. Not all locations are exact, some are simply towns or countries, one I only know is in the Southern Hemisphere, but at least two-thirds are exactly geographical coordinates of the known living quarters for that person. Sixty-four names. Got it?"

They all seemed to stare at him in complete awe. Ron spoke up first.

"What's in it for you?"

"Less than you think, youngest he-weasel. Less than you think. And my conditions have already been fully accepted by the Ministry and the Minister himself, hence my appearance at your little meeting."

Hermione cleared her throat, raising her hand before speaking, as usual. "So, you've just turned yourself in? That's it?"

Draco chuckled, stepping closer and sticking the fake list back in his pocket. He leaned on the table with both hands, leaning farther forward past Ron so that he was just a foot from her face. He hadn't quite noticed before, having never been close enough to her on personal choice, but she wasn't half bad looking. She had delicate features, long lashes, and a smart little nose.

"No, silly Granger. Because contrary to the dim belief you all have - the one in which I am a monster, a convicted killer, or both, you've failed to notice one thing. I'm not in Azkaban. If I had committed a crime and this was me 'turning myself in', do you think they'd allow me to come and give you all a little last farewell? No. I've committed no crimes, except for being dreadfully crafty, and if you'd have practiced what you preach - turning a blind eye to bias and really looking at someone's actions before judging them - you'd see that I've done not a single _bad _thing since that duel with Harry in sixth year. In fact, the only thing I have requested as of yet, in exchange for this information, is Amnesty. I will not be persecuted, especially as an innocent person. I will not be given scathing looks when I have done nothing wrong - and in fact, refused to identify Harry at the Manor earlier this year."

At once, he knew he'd said exactly the right thing - to her, at least. Her face relaxed, except for one quizzical little brow movement. The rest of the people at the table all groaned, muttering their disagreement. Sure, to _them, _taunting and ridicule was _bad_. To him, it was child's play. But he'd never killed, did not fight in the war whatsoever, and had managed to keep Crabbe and Goyle out of their hair for as long as possible. Because for Draco, it wasn't about loyalty to a family that had never treated him like family, or loyalty to a group that only tried to force him to do things, it was about personal power. Not a reigning power over the world, clearly, but about doing what he wanted, when he wanted, for whatever reason he pleased.

Harry slapped his hand on the table and shouted something about it being unfair. Lee Jordan shouted something obscene. But Hermione remained quiet, her eyes fixed on Draco's hands on the table. He knew, then, what he had to do. He had to appeal to Granger. He cleared his throat.

"Let's pause for a second. Of all of you sitting at the table, which one do you think is the most intelligent? The most reasonable?"

All but Percy - who had pointed at himself but now lowered his hand quietly - looked straight at Hermione. To her credit, she didn't blush or claim that she was, either. She knew it was true.

"And what does your friend Hermione have to say about my list and my information?"

Hermione looked around the table, then back at Draco. "We're at the end of our ropes. We can't think of anyone else ourselves, or anything we might know about them. Inside information could - would definitely - be helpful." She looked down the table at her friends, but specifically at Harry and then back at Ron. "This could mean the capture of sixty-four death eaters. Sixty-four! That's more than we've done on our own, and it would be so much better for the entire world. I can't see how you'd deny this sort of information."

Ron snorted. "Because it's coming from ferret boy at the end of the table, is why."

Hermione frowned. "So you're unwilling to accept this information and use it for good, just because of it's source? He could have sent this information in anonymously, but he didn't. He wanted to present it. That doesn't mean we should turn it away, it means we've got someone with actual facts and locations that we've been scraping for over the last few weeks. And I think it's commendable."

Draco felt his face split into a grin. This was going to get good. "See? Granger thinks I'm _commendable." _

"I said your action was, not your being." But he saw her lips turn up, just a fraction of an inch. "But yes, you've got to have a damn lot of bravery to walk into this room and do what you're doing."

Ginny seethed. "I wouldn't take it. And if you all take it, I'm out. He's no good."

"I'm out too." Lee sneered. "Wouldn't work with anyone who has _ever _been associated with Death Eaters."

Luna quietly backed out as well, though Draco assumed that it was more due to conflict than her own feelings. Even she had glanced at the paper and seen it for the good that it was, he could tell. Percy seemed to battle with himself before admitting that he would stay. Neville would stay as well, though he'd been oddly quiet the entire time. Hermione sealed her lips together, and he noted their rosy color. It was attractive, in a way he never wanted to admit out loud.

Harry sighed. "So we'd take the list. Fine. But I'm not working with him."

Draco chuckled. "Oh, dear baby Potter. You didn't think I was just going to walk away, did you? Let's think about my personal, vengeful reasons for turning in this list. I despise these people. All of them except my mother deserve a slow, painful death - and my mother is only excepted because she birthed something as clever as I, and because she cared. If you agree to take this information, you agree to work with me for the weeks, months, however long it takes to take each and everyone one of these people down. I will not try to take charge, but you need me. Nobody on this list knows what I'm doing. I'd be able to get past wards, to set up meetings, to lure them in. You have no power in those matters, and half of these locations would probably be entirely invisible to you."

Hermione nodded. "He's got a point, you know."

Ron gaped at her. "A point! Yeah, maybe he's got a point, but I still don't trust him."

Draco shook his head. "So testy, you Weasleys. Honestly. Trust me or not, she's right and so am I. Why do I only have one little supporter in this room? I quite like her, actually. In fact, I think maybe I've got a new condition. If the lot of you are so opposed to working with me, then fine. I'll take as minimal action as I can. But there is one of you, at least, who seems perfectly willing to work with me, and so she will. My new condition is this - I will only reveal this information, as Hermione Granger sees fit. And I will only reveal it to her personally."

The rest of the table grumbled their disapproval, but Hermione looked at him, a curious look in her eye. "Go on."

"Sixty-four names and locations will be released to you at the will of the both of us. This means meetings, any action taken to apprehend any of these people."

Ron scoffed. "Hermione, you're not actually considering this, are you?"

Draco watched Ron reach over and clasp her hand. He'd had a feeling, but this was going to get so much more fun. He turned to Kingsley, whose face hadn't changed. Apparently, he was willing to do whatever it took to get these names. And Draco was willing to take whatever he could in return.  
Once it was over, he'd have perfect peace and quiet. But for now, a little fun couldn't hurt.

Hermione, to Draco's great pleasure, nodded. "I am. I have to. They're all just out there, all over the country - the world. Just because Voldemort's gone doesn't mean they couldn't regroup and come back again."

Draco laughed under his breath. "Yes, yes. You're getting it now. One last condition then, and then I'll be on my way. So far you've agreed to little - you've agreed to take my information, grant me amnesty, and to let me release this information as I have deemed fit. But you're all so fussy - stop your frowning, all of you. This is a happy day. You'll get to take down almost every last Death Eater, as you've always wanted. And to celebrate, I'll be taking Hermione out for a proper dinner this evening in the city, alone. We'll begin work tomorrow."

He turned to leave, spied Kingsley's disapproval, and smirked. There was no way he'd shut down the whole thing just because of one dinner. Draco turned back to see murderous faces on Harry and Ron both, and shock on a number of others. But Hermione's face, surprisingly, remained calm. She glanced up at him just once before he shut the door behind himself and grinned. This had begun as a plan for an easy way out - but it was going to be so much more fun than that.


	2. Chapter 2

"He can't expect you to wear that. I won't let this happen."

"Hush, Ron." Hermione rolled her eyes, slipping the lid the remainder of the way off the box. "It's a _dress_, not lingerie. It's not even particularly showy. Good taste, actually. Not that I'm surprised."

She lifted the garment out of its packaging and held it up to herself, crossing the attic bedroom to the full length mirror. It was short, Slytherin green satin covered in black lace. Nice enough for a night on the town without being full length. Strapless - thank gods she had bought a strapless bra the week before - with a slightly dipping neckline. No cut-outs, nothing trashy, and not _too _short. Ron stewed on the bed, his face growing more and more red by the second and quickly turning to purple.

"Don't hold your breath, Ron. There's nothing I can do about it."

"You could act like you're not excited, maybe."

She sighed, setting the dress over a dresser and joining him on the bed. "You really think I'm going to enjoy a night out with Draco Malfoy? A free dinner and drinks, maybe. But with Draco? You've got to be kidding me. I'd much rather stay at home and hang out with you, Harry, and Ginny than go out."  
Even as she said it, she knew how ridiculous it sounded. Ron knew a little about her family, but perhaps not enough to realize what she was like when she wasn't at Hogwarts. Her parents enjoyed the finer things in life - nice wine, nice restaurants, theater, extended family holidays in fancy hotels. That's what she'd grown up on. And as much as she did enjoy spending time with her friends, she hadn't seen a formal table setting in over a year. She was beginning to forget what a gourmet meal tasted like. Not, of course, that she was ever snobby about it - in fact, at times it had seemed stuffy to her, as a child and a teenager. But a free meal along with information on Death Eaters on the run... that was something she'd take in a heartbeat, Draco or not.

"Plus, Ron, you've got to remember why I'm going in the first place. It's not like he just invited me out on the town and I accepted. It's a condition. I was the only one being reasonable in that entire room while the rest of you complained about the source. Sixty-four Death Eaters! And by the end of the night I'll have information on some of them. Concrete locations. We'll be able to capture Death Eaters who tortured, captured, and killed."

As he had taken to doing any time the subject had been brought up that day, Ron shut his mouth. She knew as well as he did that the information was vitally important. She also knew that he'd been thinking about his own losses - about Fred, about friends he'd seen fall in the battle. The people who caused all of this hurt would be put away for good. She had seen this as soon as Draco had revealed what he knew, but she had been the only one to see it reasonably until Harry pulled her aside that morning, then Ginny and Molly. Ron still hadn't budged much, but she had a feeling it had much more to do with the dinner and dancing with Draco than it did with what was on the list and his insistence that he help them in the capture and incarceration of those listed.

Instead of answering, Ron stood and left the room. It figured. She had a feeling he'd lock the bedroom door tonight. He was mad, she understood, but he'd come around as soon as they'd started capturing more Death Eaters. He had to.

She loved Ron - she really did. Things had slowed down since the week just after the war - in which a frantic realization that they could have died lead them to become much more physically comfortable with each other - but his sweet words and affections continued. Well, until yesterday, when he'd barely said a word to her after they'd gotten home and all through dinner pretended she was Draco himself. "Malfoy, pass the salt," was not something she liked responding to.

She checked the clock - goodness, it was already after six. Thankfully she'd already showered that afternoon. Despite the fact that she wasn't happy about who she was going to dinner with - he was still a foul, iniquitous little prick - she was going out on the town. Real London! Like she used to love. And for London, at least, she wanted to look nice. In his letter he told her an exact itinerary.

At seven he'd arrive at the Burrow. They would apparate to the courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron, slip out the side door (hopefully unnoticed, she thought) and out onto Charing Cross Road. From there he'd have a car waiting to take them to a dinner club he liked for a fine meal, drinks, and a little dancing. Though Hermione couldn't fathom getting close enough to Draco to dance with him, perhaps she might be able to spend the rest of the evening picking over his mind and finding out what he aimed to do with all of this. Yes he wanted amnesty, but why did he want to help? Clearly he had a reserve about his mother being on that list, but he wanted nothing more than to see his father captured. She looked at the other things in the box - black heels, a velvety black clutch, and that was it. Either he had good taste, or he could pay someone who did. Likely both.

She spent the next twenty minutes taming her hair back into an acceptable style and applying light makeup. In the last few minutes she slipped on the dress and heels and tucked chapstick and her new mobile phone into the clutch. At seven, she heard a commotion downstairs. At least he was prompt.

On her way down she found Ron, his back against the wall and a haughty look in his eyes. He still didn't approve.

"I'll be back by eleven. Will you wait up?"

"I haven't decided yet."

She took that as a goodbye, as he appeared to give none, and finished her descent. She saw the door to the Burrow open, Draco standing just inside, and a gaggle of its inhabitants giving him a wide berth. Harry and Ginny stood close together, identical looks of uncertainty. Molly stood just to the left, forcing the most polite smile she could, under the circumstances. Arthur sat on the couch and stared at the wall as if willing this all, as best he could, to simply stop happening.

"Granger. You clean up nice. Glad to see the dress fits."

"Like a glove. I'd ask how you knew, but I don't think I want the answer."

"Probably for the best." He nodded towards a spot in the field. "I've got a Portkey. I figured apparition would be easier, but I've heard it's hard to do perfectly in heels. Wouldn't want the ministry locking me up for splinching you." He grinned to show he was joking, though she sort of knew that anyway. On the short walk to the spot she considered the facts.

Firstly, he was right. He hadn't committed any crimes. Yes, he'd been rather foul in their school years, even cruel a few times. But she'd heard what had happened the night Dumbledore died. She'd seen him leaving the night of the final battle. Sure, he'd called out a few unwanted nicknames at the task force meeting the day before - but if that was as bad as he got (besides coercing her into a nice dinner, of course) then he couldn't be all bad.

Secondly, one night in particular stood out in her head. Malfoy Manor. He'd been asked directly to identify Harry but... he didn't. He'd refused, even though it was more than clear that it was him. Why? On what grounds? Or had he already begun to realize that he couldn't stay on that side forever? And once Bellatrix had singled her out for torture, he'd... well, he'd looked at her strangely and then walked out of the room entirely. Some others had come in to watch and laugh specifically, passing through with curse words and taunts of Y_ou're dead, mudblood. _But he'd left. He hadn't been able to watch. He'd seen the torture and killing of countless strangers, but... he'd left her, for some reason, when he could have assisted in the torture himself.

Lastly, she'd expected that tonight he'd be rude from the start. She'd almost expected that he'd included this one condition so that he could mock her and call her names all night, but that clearly wasn't happening. _You clean up nice. _It was the nicest thing she'd ever heard him say, and even something as simple as that had left her reeling. He'd been almost _polite. _Almost _kind. _In fact, when he'd made this a condition just a day previous, he'd almost made it seem like he was treating her based solely on the fact that she'd been the one person in the room with enough clarity to realize that this was pertinent information to ridding the world of the last of the Death Eaters. _And to celebrate, I'll be taking Hermione out for a proper dinner this evening in the city, alone, _had sounded a lot like _and none for the rest of you, if you don't want to play along. _Well, she'd play along as long as she had to. The dress wasn't all bad, anyway, and she found that the shoes had been easier to walk in than she'd expected. Classy, without being too modest. He'd definitely had a woman at a shop pick this out, no man on Earth had a sense of style so keen. Though she figured the shiny, Slytherin green peeking out from behind the lace was no coincidence.

They arrived at the top of a hill to find an old but clean trowel sitting behind a few weeds as if it belonged there. Draco stooped to pick it up, offering the cleanest part to her.

"Should be ready any minute now. I didn't leave a long window, though I don't think we missed it either." Hermione nodded, slipping the shoes off temporarily. Apparition in heels could be spotty, but trying to land from a portkey in heels would surely end with Hermione on her face. She only hoped that things were crowded enough on a Friday night that nobody would notice her with Draco. _That _could end up worse than splinching _or _falling.

A few moments later with a sharp pull, they were gone.

* * *

The rest of the short trip was spent in silence, though Draco twice checked his pockets, and Hermione thought she heard the familiar crinkle of parchment. There was indeed a car waiting - a nicer car than she'd ever been in with her parents, actually - and it was only a short ride to their final destination. She'd seen this place before, she'd even been there once for a formal party thrown by her parents friends, but she'd been too young to remember it.

Someone took Draco's name (a fake) and lead them through a marble and gold studded hallway (not fake at all) into a huge room with grand staircases at the back leading to a terrace with musicians, from which elegant music spilled over and surrounded the diners below. Dozens of large round tables were inter-spotted with dozens more smaller tables, meant only for two. Hermione and Draco were lead to one of these tables, just a little ways off from the larger empty space in the center of the room that would later be for dancing. Draco ordered a round of pre-dinner drinks without looking at the server. Most of the other diners were already seated, waiting patiently and talking amongst themselves. Hermione noticed Draco staring towards a particular corner for some periods of time before she cleared her throat.

"See someone you know?"

He turned towards her, shaking his head. "No, but I thought I might have. Far table, right corner. Go ahead and peek."

She did, and saw that one table was just slightly farther from the rest, and sat just a few feet from a side door. As she did, the drinks arrived and Draco slid one towards her immediately. She felt better - he couldn't have tried to trick her, to use a potion on her, while she'd been looking right at him. She sensed that he knew that, somehow, and that he'd wanted to prove to her that he wasn't going to kill her in the middle of the dance floor. So far, she believed him.

"That's the door. My father and his 'friends' would disappear through there at night - for a meeting, for who knows what. Sometimes as many as thirty of them would all meet here, families in tow, and the food and music would distract us for a while until they got back. Well, would distract others. This wasn't... I didn't appreciate it, when I was six. A stuffy place with old people music, I thought. My mother was always so patient with me though. She'd order me some sort of silly fizzy drink with a colored syrup. It looked cool, anyway, and she'd tell me stories about when she was a girl and it was even more boring for her. I couldn't imagine it at the time. But I did see all of the people dancing - couples, friends, whirling around and laughing. As a child, in my house - you know where I've come from - I hadn't really seen happy people. To be a child who hasn't experienced happiness... well, it wasn't a typical childhood, anyway. When I got older, I learned to at least appreciate the food and atmosphere, for a little while. I began to realize that my father and other Death Eaters would meet behind that door to plot murders, to pool their information on where the Dark Lord might have been hiding, to plan illicit activities that may or may not still disgust me and my mother. There's one thing you should understand, Granger - being the son of a Death Eater was immensely different from being one. If you weren't the one doing the planning, you were a pawn. Disposable, worthless, and probably also mocked. In our sixth year I became a pawn made to go after a King. After Dumbledore."

Hermione nodded briefly. She'd heard the tale recounted by Harry. Draco had been ordered to do it, but didn't. It had been the first moment that she'd doubted Draco's allegiance to Voldemort. It had been the first time she'd seen a weakness in him that had also been a strength.

She looked up at him and waited for him to finish a long pull of his drink before asking him something she'd been waiting to hear an answer to for a long time.

"That night at the Manor. You didn't identify Harry. Even though it was more than obvious to you and half the others in the room that it was him just based on his companions - myself and Ron - you wouldn't say it was him. Why?"

His brows raised, and in preparation he took another long drink. "That's a question for another night. There are... there are things I might talk about, in time. I spent a long time last night thinking about this arrangement. About why I did it in the first place, about what I'm going to do with the chance I've been given. You understand why I did this in the first place?"

"The dinner, or the names?"

"The names, of course."

"Amnesty. You wanted to be, well, left alone."

"In a way. Not necessarily alone. I've been alone for months now, it's not as peaceful as it seems." He swirled the contents of his drink, a pensive look on his face. "Really, I just want people to know the truth. To know what I did. My father and his friends may have fled the country, but I've stood my ground. You'd think that the fact that the Ministry hadn't tossed me into Azkaban yet would be a good signal, but most people seem to miss it. You haven't, though. No, I didn't identify Potter, for reasons that you don't know and that I still don't completely understand, though I'm trying. And since I know your next question is probably about why I went from taking the easy way out to, well, becoming a little more involved, I'll give you an answer for that too. Am I right?"

"That was third. My second question was going to be about who you paid to pick out this dress."

She watched him smile for the first time that night, and it only briefly twisted into a trouble-making grin. "Weasley hated it that much?"

Hermione had to refrain from spitting out her drink. She nodded, letting the liquid slide down her throat, and nodded vigorously. At this moment, dinner began, and waiters holding trays full of plates of appetizers, salads, and soups wove throughout the venue and deposited plates where plates were due. Hermione picked at her salad for a moment while Draco ordered wine for them both, and then looked up at him again.

He looked... calm. She knew for a fact she'd never have used the word before. He was usually antsy when something was happening, somewhat skittish. But tonight he sat across from her at a table, dressed to the nines, buttering a roll and staring at her all the same.

She nodded again. "Yes, Ron hates the dress. Was that your plan?"

"If it was, it worked, but perhaps it wasn't at all. I just figured... well, from what I've heard, you don't have much from your parents house."

Her latest bite of salad stuck in her throat. Of course he'd have heard. The entire wizarding world had heard. Some of the smaller, less-read tabloids had even gone so far as to smack awful headlines on stories about it, things like _War Hero loses parents - Potter her only comfort_. Her parents weren't _lost, _really. They were probably alive. Her memory charm had certainly been effective enough. But they _had _been out of the country for over a year now, and Australia was an enormous continent to search through. It would take time. But until then... she couldn't magically appear back at her childhood home if her parents had gone missing. The house was still theirs, but a sudden reappearance of a daughter would spark question in the community and likely with the police. She broke her train of thought, shaking her head and looking back up at him. He was _staring _at her, as if willing her to speak, or as if trying to read her mind.

"Yes. They're... I sent them away. For protection. Over a year ago. I can't risk being too near the house, it would raise questions, but you're right in thinking I don't have much from there. I couldn't risk all of my things disappearing, in case police decided to look through the house - they'd think horrible things. They'd think I'd murdered my parents and fled the country. So I had to disappear too. The dress was... thank you. It's nice."

He didn't smile, didn't say _you're welcome_, just nodded and sighed. Wine came, and he took a sip off his glass and held it up, inspecting the contents. He perked up a little after a few moments. "But the third question. That one! Why I'm getting 'involved'." He let his free hand form air quotes and smiled in spite of the previously sober tone. "Well, you were there for the later part, but I should start at the beginning. I've been in hiding, in a sense. After my first week in public, I had received eleven death threats, two bags of what was assumed to be dog feces near the boundaries of the Manor, and one swift kick in the shins by Neville Longbottom's grandmother. It seemed that my connection with my family had cast my name in a bad light - not that I hadn't deserved it in previous years, but I'd consider my change of heart and action to be something worth noting. At first I'd considered doing an interview with the Prophet or, for some odd reason, the ever-popular Quibbler, but I felt it would come off like I was begging for people to just play nice. I felt, personally, as if I had to prove that I hadn't done anything wrong. But how could I do that, show everyone my memories? Tell them what I'd seen?"

He took another sip, and Hermione found herself leaning forward to hear him better. She really was intrigued, and the fact that he was still Draco Malfoy, torturer of her first five years at Hogwarts, bore no more importance. She had to know.

He shook his head. "Instead, I started collecting names. Well, that would be a way to show them, wouldn't it? I'd be able to turn in Death Eaters, the last of them in the world. I'd be able to hand over my letter of resignation from the Dark Side, to the Minister himself, and the people would thank me. I got pissed drunk and arrested by muggles, who were watching out for my name and immediately contacted the ministry. I was brought in, in handcuffs, and questioned. Kingsley - who quickly had me released based on the fact that I really hadn't broken any laws - told me about your little task force, and about your goals of providing information and then assisting in the capture of Death Eaters.

"It was at that point that I only had one condition - that I wanted to present the list to you and Potter and the Weasels to start my redemption with a bang. If _you _all saw what I was doing, and that I truly was trying to prove that I was better than what I'd done and who I was related to, then anyone could see it, right? Kingsley's only condition was that I played nice. That I didn't try anything stupid. That I only did or said things that the group of you agreed to. Trying to get a lot of you to agree with anything that came out of my mouth seemed impossible, but I braced myself, went to your little meeting, and presented my conditions. You know the rest - everyone else resisted, you saw an opportunity unlike any other. The chance to discover and capture every single remaining Death Eater. You took it, despite all doubt in your head - don't even bother trying to deny that there was doubt, silly girl - because you knew what this meant. And when I even announced that we'd be celebrating, you didn't turn it down. A dinner with someone that many people think is or was a Death Eater - how awful. But you're here, wearing that dress that Ron hates, and you aren't absolutely suffocating of boredom. Use your powers of deduction."

He sat back, brows high. "There will be more on that later. I didn't really answer that question as well as I should have, but rather I've presented you with something to think about too - you're wondering why I've decided to get involved, I'm wondering why you didn't even try to put up a fight when I stated my conditions - including dinner. Let that one stew a little."

Hermione opened her mouth to explain, but found that she couldn't. She shut her mouth again, fuming silently. He was right. She hadn't argued, hadn't even tried. Why?

The main course was served - a wonderful braised rabbit with fall vegetables, a dish that comforted her and at once satisfied her craving for a nice meal. The red wine, the gamey rabbit, the soft bread with little bits of rosemary. They ate in silence, letting the chatter of the other dinner patrons drift around them and fill the empty space that their own voices had recently filled. It was comforting, she thought, to not be in a house of ten, fifteen, or twenty, for once. With half of the people she knew staying at the Burrow, it had been difficult to get a word in edgewise. Now she'd completed a full conversation before dinner and was content to enjoy the smooth music from above.

The meal completed (and followed by a delicious creme brulee dessert), Draco sighed, eyeing Hermione closely. She was watching him as well, though from the corners of her eye as she turned her head this way and that.

"I can think of at least one reason I'm here, Draco. That list. Though it still shocks me to know that you're turning it all over... I'm curious. How did you get all of this information? How did you know all of this?"

He held up a finger. "Ah! That. Well, let's just say that idiots aren't the most careful sort. My father and his cronies may have crafted many dark plans, but their plain defeat should prove they weren't all that good at planning, after all. For the first month or so, they communicated through wands - a bit of older magic that I was taught a few years ago. We could all communicate, in a way, by a charm. In all of that talk, many of them revealed their locations so that others could join them. So that they might have someone to share in their misery with. I collected this information piece by piece, in part because I thought that if society might never accept me, I might go into hiding as well - though obviously not because I was a murderer or anything. I collected sixty-four names and locations. Some of these locations, mind you, have two or more people hiding there. I'm not entirely sure who has moved where, as updates weren't really all that frequent, but all of these locations can be checked."

"And you're going to check? With us, I mean?"

"I am. I figure if it's ever a location such as a home or hideout, I'll be allowed to pass through wards, I might be able to trick them into thinking I'm coming to hide with them. It's not out of the question. And on top of that, if there are people watching out - standing guard, if you will - I'll look a lot better walking up there than you would." That smirk again. She could rip it right off his face, if he wasn't absolutely right. That, she thought, was perhaps the most annoying thing about him - for an idiot, for a showoff, he was often correct.

"But what if you do, and that's relayed to someone else? Say, you walk up and a guard is alerted to your presence. They or someone they're guarding is able to send a message, via wands or otherwise, to the rest of the lions dens, so to speak."

"I've thought of that. But the truth in the matter is this - that they wouldn't hide in groups that large. I'm thinking three, four tops in any place. Many may only be one or two Death Eaters. By the time we've alerted one, we'll be close enough to the other to stop them from doing so. And with groups of us pushing five or six, it's likely they won't have time."

Hermione nodded, tilting her head back to look at the ceiling. She did this, at times, to help process information. Her mother had done it too, always with a smile. _I'm letting it all sink in. _Well, Hermione was doing her best, anyway.

The band played a little louder now, and that seemed to be some insider cue to rise from tables and step into the wide expanse of open space in front of the platform stage. Couples wound their hands around each other, stepped in as close as could be. She watched a couple in what she assumed to be their early thirties, whirling slowly in time with the music. She hadn't danced in...

"Granger. You're doing that thing, again."

"Thing? What thing?" She snapped back to the present, away from whirling couples, away from the last time she'd danced, at the Yule Ball, just before everything had started to go downhill.

"Losing your head. To whatever extent. And while the silence tells me you're not suddenly deciding to run off and forget the whole arrangement, it does mean we're the only two left sitting. Unless you'd like to go make friends." He nodded off towards a far corner in which an ancient couple sat staring at the dance floor as she had - though even through glasses that thick, Hermione wasn't sure they could see anything other than colors and shapes.

"I'd rather not."

He stood, flattening his shirt and jacket. "Shall we?" He held his hand out, palm facing upwards, fingers slightly curled. He was asking her to dance. She had figured that it might happen, but the possibility was much less intriguing than the reality. This was his choice, for whatever reason. And though she could think of a half-dozen choice reasons she didn't want to get near enough to him to dance with him, she could think of sixty-four reasons she would.

Dancing with Draco was strange - different than dancing with Krum, who had been all wandering hands and big, clumsy feet. Though Draco's large feet were attributed to his height, he never once stepped on her toes. Quite the opposite - she'd stepped on him in the first minute or two, despite the fact that he kept her at a respectful distance. His hand was cool and smooth, no signs of dirt or chapping, like Ron's. Draco moved with a grace that she'd only noticed once before, in his gait. He was a gentleman, through many dances and many blips of small talk. She wasn't particularly enjoying herself, but she wasn't feeling awkward or uncomfortable, either. It just was, they just _were. _That was all, until the band finished a set of songs and stepped off for a break. Draco led Hermione wordlessly to a bar towards the side, and ordered them both a drink. He'd remembered exactly what she'd ordered earlier, and as soon as it was slid it front of them, he sighed.

Perhaps it was the most recent drink coming to strength. Perhaps it was the strange effect that the night had on her so far - that she was almost enjoying herself despite current company, or rather because of current company. But when he looked at her for the first time they'd made eye contact since standing to dance, she felt a current run up and down her spine. Had his eyes always been that color? She couldn't recall...

She watched him grab a bar napkin and pen from behind the bar, scribbling something before he then slid the napkin down to her. On the napkin was one name, not one she recognized immediately, and a set of coordinates. She immediately knew what it was. Number one of sixty-four.

"You'll get more of them in time, I promise you that. This is just a small taste of what our arrangement will be like." He took a sip of his drink, letting out a big huff of a breath before continuing, this time without looking at her. "Since I've abandoned and am now turning in everyone I've ever associated with, I have no one left. I'll need a companion, at times. If you're still in agreement with my terms, there will occasionally be meetings such as this, though not always of this caliber. I will reveal names to you, and only to you, meaning that when one has been captured and it is time for the next, you and I will have to meet, in at least semi-privacy, so that I may reveal names and locations to you and any information I have on the subjects in question."

His tone had turned suddenly too-formal. He'd been light, almost joking, before this. Perhaps it was the idea of what he was about to do, perhaps it was what he'd just said - he was alone. She nodded, taking the napkin and folding it into her hand. "Ron won't be happy about this."

Draco's formality was gone, quickly replaced by a scathing look and comment. "If Weasel isn't happy about the fact that you'll have to spend a few moments with me now and then to get a hold of the information you're getting, you've got bigger problems than that dress. Let's go."

Without another word he stepped off his bar stool, dropped a small handful of bills in the check folder on their dining table, and barely waited for her as they stepped outside.

The journey home was quicker than it had been in the other direction. Hermione no longer had to wonder what was in store. Her understanding of the situation was now perfectly clear, and she found herself agreeing with it. It wasn't the most ideal of situations, but it was worlds better than just letting Draco walk away with his list, and if it meant a nice meal now and then, she no longer had anything bad to say about it. He'd been a gentleman. He'd done exactly what he said he would. Even when they'd danced, his hand on her waist hadn't slid down to anything inappropriate.

When he walked her to the front door of the Burrow, he nodded, clasping his hands in front of him.

"Surprise you, surprise me... I actually had a nice time tonight, Granger. And don't take that lightly, given my history."

"I won't. I suppose I'm not suffering too much, either." She mirrored his smirk, and he must have noticed, because even with the minute shake of his head, she thought she saw the hint of a smile.

"You get inside and get that name to your group. I'm assuming we'll all be needed tomorrow morning."

"Probably. Nine sharp. You'll probably have to owl Kingsley ahead of time though, I don't see you entering through the guest way, or asking for him, going very well."

"'Course not. ''Scuse me, have you seen the Minister? I've got an, er, secret appointment with him, in private.' They'd have me locked up."

"Or worse. Draco, I... thank you. Tonight was lovely. It's been quite some time since I've been out at all, and I'm grateful."

He stepped back, clearly heading away, stepping into the darkness behind the hills of the Burrow. "Don't mention it. Really. Weasley and Boy Wonder might have my head if they think you enjoyed any part of tonight." With a crack, he was gone.

She found herself staring at the spot where he'd just Disapparated for a long moment before she spun on her heel, stepping into the Burrow only to run smack into Harry.

"Hermione! There you are."

"Harry, I'm so sorry, I just sort of stormed in..."

"Are you alright? It's late..."

"Harry it's only ten. I told Ron not to expect me back until eleven."

"He didn't tell me that..."

Hermione rolled her eyes, slipping out of her heels. "Of course he didn't. He doesn't want to talk about this at all. But it's not like it was a date, obviously. In fact, I have something. Already paying off."

She slipped the napkin with the name out of her pocketbook, handing it to Harry.

"You're serious? He just handed you the first name over dinner and drinks?"

"True to his word, if you don't remember. He said he would reveal names only to me, and he gave me this one just before we left."

Harry mouthed out the name and location. "I think I remember this one. I remember his face, from... Malfoy Manor. Wasn't a big name, but I'd seen him before, as well."

"I couldn't remember. But that's not far from here, maybe two hours by car."

"We'll owl Kingsley. He'll want to set up a meeting tomorrow morning."

Hermione nodded, knowing who else would be there. They'd already assumed a meeting would be happening, and after the events of the evening, would she be able to walk into the room at all, without letting on that she'd actually enjoyed herself tonight? Harry was watching her closely, and she had to mask her face to keep from giving anything away.

She'd enjoyed an evening with Draco Malfoy. He had _wowed _her. He needed a companion. How odd. How very, very odd.

* * *

**AN: I'm SO SO sorry it has taken this long to update. I've been out of country for a little while, and busy with a million things and my birthday before then. Once I finally unpacked and ate breakfast, I knew what I needed to do. Hope this chapter was enjoyable, I should be updating much more often in the future. Remember to review, and thanks for reading! **


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione cleared her throat, brows raised. "I have an appointment with the Minister. For three."

The receptionist looked at her with wide eyes and an equally confused face. Hermione had received an owl just a few minutes ago, requesting her immediate arrival at the Minister's office for an important meeting. Neither Harry nor Ron had received such a letter, but as the Minister asked, the Minister received. Hermione made good use of her apparition practice and landed herself square around the corner from the guest entrance, in an alleyway a half block down.

It hadn't been difficult trying to get a token to enter the Ministry. In fact, she'd ended up with three, after asking just one person if they could spare a token for her. There were perks to being a war hero, after all.

Kingley's receptionist waved her back. "He'll see you now. I see he's just written you in."

Hermione nodded, straightening her shirt and walking straight back to the Ministers office. She'd never been here before, but she doubted that it was the same previously as it was now, for Kingsley. The room was decorated in rich woods and bright reds and purples, a room fit for the man who sat behind the desk in a large, wing-backed chair. He was frowning. This couldn't be good - Kingsley was hardly this grave.

"Miss Granger. Sit, please."

Hermione felt her own lips turn downward as she took a seat across from him. "Miss Granger? Must we use formalities? I was 'Hermione' just a week ago at the meeting."

She watched his face change - frustration, guilt, release. "Forgive me. I've been under a lot of stress, especially given our current situation. I assume you were told what happened on the last Auror's mission?"

"I know that we weren't allowed to go. But since that owl, none of us have received anything. We were promised..."

"That you could help. I know. That will come. But this first name was far - Istanbul - and due to a number of political and environmental dangers at the moment, my committee wouldn't allow you to go. This one was best left to Aurors, anyway; he put up one hell of a fight." Now he was smiling, the man Hermione knew best. "But..."

She knew what was coming before he said it. She'd had a realization, just moments ago, that _of course _that's why he'd be calling her in here. _Of course _that's why she was requested.

"Hermione, I need to talk to you about Draco Malfoy. We have no idea if he's still dangerous or not. We have no idea if he's tricked you or hurt you or any number of people. Since you've delivered that first name, I've been wondering how I should ask you this... how I should ask you something that I believe may have offended you. I couldn't think of a thing. Tell me what happened when you met with Draco Malfoy."

Hermione didn't speak. She didn't want to. What could she say? That some part of her, no matter how insane, believed that Draco really had changed? That the rest of her was screaming to escape this arrangement, to give up the good fight, to stay at the Burrow and sleep away the memories of their last encounter? But what she remembered wasn't so bad, after all. She took in a deep breath, staring Kingsley in the eye. He had to know she meant it.

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

He eyed her for only a moment, face serious, before he laughed. Hermione was relieved to know that he wasn't going to pressure her or not believe her statement. After a deep sigh, he looked at her again. "Yes, and I see your trademark wit is still intact. Letting you into the hands of Draco Malfoy, though, is not optimal."

Speaking of the hands of Draco Malfoy... she'd felt them on her waist for days after. She remembered how he smelled - not like death or any rotten stench at all, but like musk and something woodsy.

"I understand. But I'm telling you, Kinglsey. He did exactly as he said. He picked me up, we went to dinner. We had a drink or two, not many, and danced briefly before he offered me the first name. He gave me a proposition as to how the rest of this arrangement will go - he'll pick me up, we'll go somewhere private for a brief discussion. He'll hand over more names as time passes. And he wants to have a hand in helping us - in defeating people he once called friends. He was different. I was almost too shocked to believe it, but... to be honest, Kingsley, I think he has been changing. At least, a tiny bit. Enough for now. He's no saint, but... he's not who he was before."

Kingsley nodded. "I can accept that. And I trust your word on the matter. I apologize for calling you in so suddenly. I've got a meeting with my committee in a few minutes, they'll want to hear all of this. I've got people from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the Auror Department, two men from the Department of Investigations, and even a funny little bloke from the Department of Mysteries. He's an Unspeakable, babbles to himself sometimes as he takes notes, I have no idea what he's doing here. Someone, somewhere, does though. They're the ones who wanted to see your task force formed in the first place, and now they want more regular updates, since you've all decided that fighting dark wizards is something fun to do over Summer Hols..." He grinned and cleared his throat, ready to continue.

"I got an interdepartmental memo from one or the other of them this morning, and I'll let you know how this is going to work. Feel free to tell the rest of the group. Since there is a large group of you, and a large number of Aurors, we'd like to split everyone up. We can't have half an army traipsing around trying to surprise death eaters. Depending on the number of witches and wizards hiding out per location, we'll allow a certain number of you to go on any expedition. The Aurors will lead, but you will assist in scouting, identifying, and dueling as needed. Do you understand?"

"I do."

"Excellent. On your way. I'll see you at next week's meeting, and let me know when Draco contacts you about more names."

"I will. Thank you, Minister."

* * *

"Hermione?"

She'd barely opened the door to the burrow when she'd heard his voice. She'd been so used to Ron's snapping at her over the last week or so, that she'd forgotten how soft his voice could be.

"Hello, Ron. I just had to run to see Kingsley, he had a few questions."

"Yeah, Harry told me. Can we talk a minute?"

"Of course." She rounded the corner to find him sitting at the tiny table in the kitchen, a small bunch of flowers in his hand. He offered them to her and she noticed that the bouquet was made up of all of her favorites from the Burrow's garden. She smiled, taking them and inhaling the light, airy scent.

"They're nice, Ron. Thank you."

"I just figured... I know I've been a prat lately. An awful sort. And I know that you're just trying to do the right thing, so I'm sorry if I've been... what's the word Harry used... ludicrous. Right. I'm sorry if I've been ludicrous."

"Do you even fully remember what that means?"

"It probably means something along the lines of 'I'm an idiot' and it's bad, based on the way Harry looked when he said it." Ron grinned sheepishly. Hermione realized this face, this attitude - he was trying. She knew that this couldn't be the easiest for him, for any of them, but she sat down beside him and grabbed his hand.

"Yes, it's something along those lines. And I'm not saying I don't blame you - you were quite mean once or twice - but I'm saying I accept your apology for anything you've done so far."

"So far? What's that supposed to mean?" He furrowed his brow.

"It means I know you'll probably snap at me again. We're only one name down. And that as long as you stop calling me Draco Malfoy at the dinner table, we should be okay."

Ron laughed, squeezing her hand. "Thanks, Hermione." He leaned forward, kissing her quickly. It still made her dizzy. Later that night, they were still holding hands. Harry pointedly looked at Hermione, who simply shrugged and continued to eat her pot roast.

Until the owl, of course.

* * *

_Hermione,  
_

_You can expect my letters to come at about this frequency. Once, twice a week at most. Doing what I am doing is rather difficult, even if I am changing, and even still I have details to hammer out and listening to do, to make sure that I can accurately locate the people on this list. _

_We'll meet again tomorrow. We'll be apparating somewhere farther than we went last time, if only because I didn't like being in a place where anyone could walk up on us and hear our conversation. I'll release as many names as I please, based solely on how I'm feeling that day and if I deem the information true and correct, or safe enough to pursue, anyway. I'm still after amnesty. I'm still after a public declaration by the Ministry. I'm still after a bit of freedom, a walk down the street in which I won't be attacked. I haven't been to Diagon Alley since last summer. I haven't been to any wizarding locations since then. The public still doesn't know what I'm doing, and can't know until after it is complete. If I go public with what I'm doing, obviously everyone on that list could find out that I'm helping the Ministry and not only would I not be able to pinpoint locations, but I would immediately be denied access past all wards, guards, and protective spells. I know this means that I could potentially be alone for a few months, but as we've discussed, you'll be my companion as well. _

_The place we'll go next isn't particularly cold, but it could be a bit breezy. It's unplottable, no muggle and most wizards don't know its location, but it is somewhere that only I and four other people have been. Two of those people are dead. We'll be perfectly safe. Bring a coat. Not your warmest. I'll arrive at seven tomorrow night. If this is an inconvenience, please reply with a more fitting time. It's not as if these people can travel or anything, so I'm sure your possible delay in this meeting would only matter a ton. _

_DM  
_

She could practically feel the sarcasm dripping off the last statement on the page. What he'd meant was 'We're doing this tomorrow because we've got to hurry, I'm sure you know.' But nothing, nothing was straightforward with Draco Malfoy...

She waited for Harry and Ron to stop reading over her shoulder, and the only change she noticed was that Ron's smile was a little more forced after he read it.

"More names. Excellent." The cheery tone wasn't enough to cover the irritation. Hermione chose not to mention it - he was trying, at least.

"Yes, it is. We should be able to start going after some of them, soon. Kingsley told me more about it today. See..."

She distracted them both with details of how these little adventures would work. At the end, neither was focused on Draco. _Men. _She rolled her eyes. Give them a wand and a mission and they're good for a while. Shortly after dinner the family and guests returned to their bedrooms, and Hermione made her bed beside Ginny, who had hardly said a word about the whole thing. Hermione wasn't sure what that meant - the girl could be silently accepting her decisions, or silently mocking her. Both were highly possible.

There was a crash above them, then a shout.

"I don't care! I don't care what she's doing, it's not right!"

She knew that haughty yell anywhere - Ron was upset, and it would take something serious to calm him down now. He always believed he was in the right.

"I don't like seeing _my girlfriend _run off to private places with _Draco damned Malfoy _whenever he pleases, is what! And I don't care about keeping my voice down, she knows it! He knows it! Everyone knows it! What kind of bloke would be okay with another guy taking his girl out to nice places?"

She heard a voice attempting to be gruff with him - likely Harry or Percy - and Ron fell quiet again. She understood his frustration, now in a more different way. It wasn't completely because it was Draco, it was because it was someone that could take her out somewhere nice and private, somewhere that she could enjoy the nicer things in life that she'd been missing since her last days with her parents. Dinner, dancing, the sorts of things she could only do with Ron if she spent the money. He felt bad because he couldn't treat her to things, and Hermione felt her heart drop out of her chest. She looked to Ginny, but Ginny made a point of not looking at Hermione.

She looked up through the ceiling, wishing she could just take the stairs up to Ron and tell him how she felt - that she did love him, and that there was a big difference between himself and Ron. One of them was her boyfriend, and there were a million good reasons for that.

* * *

Draco didn't say a word to her, not directly. Instead he faced towards Ron, who was standing behind her sulking. Draco blinked, just once. "We'll be gone an hour at most. She'll have more names this time."

At this he turned and walked away. Hermione could sense that something was wrong - was he mad at her? His letter had been rather formal, despite the more relaxed tone he'd taken at times during their first meeting. She turned towards Ron, kissed his cheek, and waved to Harry.

"I promise. I won't be gone longer than that."

"But you have no idea where he's taking you?"

"No, I don't. But it's not like he's going to walk up and make sure you know I'm with him, then kill me or anything. He came here as a kindness. He's trying to get people to trust him."

Ron scoffed. "Good luck. Slimy little..."

Hermione cut him off, throwing her coat over her sweater. "I'll be back. Let Molly know." She closed the door behind her, walking quickly to catch up with Draco. He was already outside of the line of the Weasley residence, and was looking at his watch without waiting for her. She could have stayed silent, could have held her tongue. Then again, she'd never been one for letting the chance pass to answer or ask questions.

"Did I offend you? Did I do something wrong?"

He turned towards her, his eyebrow shooting upwards. "Why do you care?"

"Several reasons. Firstly because, if you don't remember, I've been nothing but trustful with you. And lastly because if we're going to be in this situation, with this arrangement, I'd rather have you treat me at least slightly better than the dirt stuck in your shoes. I got enough of that in our school years."

She saw him briefly tense, then relax. "Alright. Let's just... let's go. We'll talk more once we're out of here." He offered her his arm and closed his eyes, waiting. It was strange how something as simple as closing his eyes made Malfoy seem almost... vulnerable. She'd never thought she'd relate that word to him, ever. She set her hand on his forearm, gripping as tightly as she would allow herself to. At the last second, she too closed her eyes, waiting to see where he would take her. Where this situation would take her, where life would take her.

She felt the sharp pull, the squeezing sensation, and felt her feet plant as firmly as they could on uneven ground. Then she heard it - the soft roar of the ocean, just off to her right. Her eyes flew open - it had been ages since she'd been to the beach, and though it wasn't her favorite place in the world, the smell of salt and the gritty feeling of sand beneath her shoes reminded her of her childhood. She'd gone on holiday with her parents all over; her mother loved spending days on a beach, relaxing or reading. It was at times like that, that Hermione had picked up the habit - reading a book along with her mother, stretched out on a bar of sand in England, or Fiji, or Spain.

Draco shuddered next to her. "I hate the beach." He dropped his arm from her grasp, moving quickly to unbutton the top button of his shirt and run a hand through his previously perfect hair. There was a slight breeze playing with his pale hair, mussing the fabric of his shirt. It was cool, not cold. She guessed they were still in the country. He cleared his throat, kicking off his shoes and tucking his socks into them, and pausing to wait for her as she did the same. Shoes, socks, mussed up hair. Though the only thing he'd had to say was negative, Hermione immediately sensed a better mood in the man beside her. He was more relaxed here, for whatever reason, which made her relax too. "I hate it, but it relaxes me, in a weird sort of way. My parents owned this island, have since I was a child. There was nothing on it for a long time, it was meant simply as a meeting place and then as a place for my mother to go when she needed to... needed to get away. From things." Draco looked at her pointedly, and she knew what he meant - when she needed to escape whatever violence or fury had exploded within the manor, between Lucius or Voldemort or any number of Death Eaters.

Hermione only nodded, looking out over the water. As far as she could see, there was no land. She assumed they were fairly far from the mainland, or that the slight late afternoon fog was otherwise blocking any view she might have had before.

As if he could sense her musings, he shook his head. "We're close. Unplottable. And a fair number of protective enchantments, disillusionment charms, and the like. A muggle wouldn't even feel the need to avoid this island by boat - his navigation system would tell him he was true to path, even though he'd follow a half-mile curve around us. Nearer to the end of the war, my father made me Secret Keeper of most of the hidden locations of any property he has. Had. It's all mine now, especially now. Never enjoyed the water. Frigid, too salty, and I'm not one for swimming anyway. Really only gets warm for a month or so in July. Just a few weeks away."

She found herself nodding, agreeing with him. "I used to stay on the sand with my mother. Even when she went in, I stayed out and read by myself."

The corner of his mouth played at a smirk, and she could see his head twitch, as if to shake his head. "I could have guessed as much. Bookworm."

"Egotist. You're the one complaining about a private island." She let herself smile, despite herself. He whipped his head towards her, noting her grin, and let out a small rumble of - laughter? She couldn't tell.

"Touche, Granger. Touche. Let's walk a bit. I want to show you something."

They walked in silence for what seemed like only a moment before rounding a corner and coming to the edge of a small cove set into the island. At the back edge, Hermione could see a pathway lit by plain torches, and beyond that the construction site of what appeared to be a beach house three times the size of her old home.

"My mother was having it built, in the months before the war. She thought... she thought that if things went badly, we could live here and hide. That we could escape the Dark Lord, the three of us, and live happily. We were too late, after all. By the time we realized we should have been convincing my father to leave, the Dark Lord already had us all trapped in the Manor. There was no way to leave without him knowing, or following. I doubted all along that my father would have joined us anyway. Now that it's my secret to keep, he couldn't come back here if he tried. Serves him right."

Hermione nearly started. Draco had seemed displeased with his father since their sixth year, but hadn't outwardly said anything like what he'd just said. She only nodded, waiting to see if he had more to say on the subject, or any subject. He did.

"I think I'll have it finished. Bring a small crew of two or three, magical of course. I can give them coordinates, let them work on it, and as soon as they're all gone, it'll plot itself somewhere else. It'll be just mine, again. I thought about..." He looked at her, shame in his eyes for what she thought was the first time. "I thought about keeping the list to myself and just living here. Just escaping it all. But as guilty as I feel turning in the list, and handing over these names... I would have felt worse knowing that there was a way to bring those people to justice, and that I'd kept it from happening. After what they've done. After what I've seen them do." He kept his gaze on her for some time, and she turned away instinctively. It was still strange holding eye contact with him, even in their current situation.

With a flick of his wand, a stone bench appeared on the sand some few yards away from them. The pair walked towards it and sat without a word, staring out over the miles of ocean with what felt like miles of space between them.

Hermione had felt something gnawing at the back of her thoughts for a while. As intriguing as the whole situation was, she had to know more, learn more. She turned towards him, trying not to seem anxious. "What took you so long? To change, I mean."

He tilted his head back, face towards the sky, and closed his eyes again. He let out a puff of breath, then opened his eyes and turned to her once more. "I don't know. I wasn't ever really in line with what my father was doing, or the Dark Lord, not past third year or so. I hid behind his influence for a long time, even though I felt at the time that something was wrong. I was just... it was what I was raised to believe. The superiority, the elitism. It was my way of life. When I was finally old enough to realize that it wasn't a very good way to live, I was stuck. I was... afraid."

"Of?"

"Of my father. Mostly, the Dark Lord and his influence on my father, on the life of myself and my mother. Of living in a different way than I'd been living for fourteen years. The Dark Lord had been grooming me, in a way. It was different than it had been before - when he first rose to power, he had to gain followers that already had twenty years of knowledge and opinions instilled in them. I was born into a Dark family, into a Dark household, under a father who worshiped at the feet and served at the right hand of the Dark Lord himself. I should have been bred to be the ultimate Death Eater, the perfect tool for him to use against Dumbledore and the rest of the world. But there's something that doesn't work properly, when you kill a man in front of a fourteen-year-old kid who had previously thought the whole Dark lifestyle was all smoke and mirrors. I'll never forget the first time I watched a man die. I never knew his name, but he cried out for a woman when he died - a wife, I presume. I think that was the moment I knew something was wrong, but I still held tightly to my way of life. To comfort, to power. To influence. I held onto the life I had always known, even if I knew that that life wasn't a good one to live."

He kicked at a bit of sand with his toes, and watched the grains drift midair in the breeze.

"By the time I realized what had been planned for me, I was preparing to board the Hogwarts Express for our sixth year. I'd been told to kill Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard I or anyone had ever known. I failed, and that was my downfall. The Dark Lord watched me with eyes like a hawk after that, I knew I'd displeased him, but I'd saved my own soul. How could following the orders of someone I didn't believe in, be worthy enough of splitting my own soul? But that was long ago. I struggled after that year, to keep up pretenses and keep his watching eyes off me. I struggled all the way up until the moment I walked away. I still struggle. But I'm hoping to turn that into some good. I'm hoping I can turn that around."

He still didn't look at her, and she knew that he'd said more than he'd ever planned on telling her. There was a faint blush to his pale cheeks, more-so than could have been caused by the cool breeze. He'd been babbling. She watched the way he kept his lips tightly shut - he was embarrassed. These were things, she realized suddenly, that he'd probably never told anyone else.

The world was definitely ending - she was now Draco Malfoy's confidante.

After another moment of excruciatingly awkward silence, she spoke up. "You could, you know. Do some good, I mean. You're already doing a world of good. Ridding the world of the last known Death Eaters... you do realize what a favor you're doing us all, right?"

He grinned slightly, turning to look at her now. "Just a favor. Yeah. I know." He knew she was just trying to break tension, and she knew it had worked. "But I want to talk to you about something. A few things."

She nodded, turning slightly towards him.

"I know Ronald can't be too happy about what's going on. I know he's probably furious."

"He called me Malfoy at the dinner table for days after you barged in on our meeting."

At this, Draco truly laughed. "I can imagine that might have been unpleasant. 'Pass the gravy, Malfoy...' I can see it now." He folded his arms, now in a much better mood, and smirked at her. "But I mean it, bookworm. I could use your companionship, despite the fact that I'm kicking myself for admitting it. I need your wit. I'm otherwise despised."

"You're still despised, I just take pity on loathsome creatures." She'd meant for it to come out flatly, but couldn't help but laugh through the end of it. He rolled his eyes at her, shaking his head.

She was torn. On one hand, there was someone in front of her that she'd been trained - by himself - to hate. There was the man that had taunted her, teased her, and had seen her be tortured and insulted, vilified. On the other hand was a boy her age, suddenly alone in life, trying to do the right thing and have at least one friend in an otherwise bleak world. He was both, all rolled up into one and tucked into nice shirts and shoes. She was hopeless. So was he.

* * *

He watched her think it over, though it was clear from the lack of anger on her face that he'd said the right thing. What was the right thing to say, anyway, when you were trying to convince someone who had previously loathed your existence that they should be your friend? There wasn't an answer. Instead, he'd chosen to be a little more honest than he'd preferred to be, had garbled out thoughts he'd rarely let himself muse over, let alone a girl, and sat beside her on a bench on a private island in a mad little world where that sort of thing was possible.

He heard what she said next - that it wasn't an ideal situation, that Ron was probably exaggerating, that it was for the good of the world, that she was glad he had made the choice he had made. But he was only partially focused on it. He'd been smiling before, hadn't he? Now he felt like he might be sick. The world had seemed to stop spinning, and the fog had crept over the water in the harbor and into his brain.

Hadn't he made fun of her hair before? Her big mouth? Her teeth? Why was that same smile suddenly so warming to him, now? Though afternoon had quickly faded into night, and the sky was now nearing black, he felt as warm as he had that afternoon by the fire. He remembered taunting her for her bushy hair, but it really wasn't that awful, pulled back into a ponytail like it was. Showed off her bone structure. In years past he would have been disgusted - _how could someone with such bad blood have such good bone structure?_ But he clearly didn't think the same way about things anymore.

Maybe he was going stir-crazy. Maybe it was that she was the only person he'd had a real conversation with in weeks. Maybe it was those little curls at the nape of her neck, escaped from her ponytail. Who knew?

He forced himself to reach into his jacket pocket and feel for the parchment slip he'd written out just before picking her up. Three names, one location. Right, back to the present.

"What happened with the first name?"

Hermione waved him off, shaking her head. "Too far. They sent Aurors. It was apparently dangerous, but we should be able to choose to go on future missions, if they're close enough. Anyway, they captured him. Tucked away neatly in a high security cell in Azkaban, with new improvements. No escapes, this time, not ever again."

"Glad to hear of it." He offered her the parchment, flipping it to reveal the names. "These should all be in the same location. Two men and a woman, they usually always stuck together. Smith, MacFarland, and Dewhurst. Dewhurst is the woman - Eliza. She's vicious. We'll have to take extra precaution, she must have dueled a few rounds with Snape's invented hexes and curses."

Hermione nodded, tucking the paper into her pocket. "I'll turn these in first thing tomorrow. And I'll tell Kingsley that you want to help with the next one."

"You read my mind." He tilted his head back again, grateful for the view of the stars and the easy way to avoid her gaze. "Should be going. It's dark. Forty-five minutes. I should get you back before Ron tries to kill me."

"He might anyway. He's been... sensitive."

Somehow, hearing it from her this time was different. What did Ron have to fear? Draco had money, yes, and he'd made the right choice - but he wasn't Ron. Ron had made the right decision all along, and he was her boyfriend, or something like it. He shook his head. What did it matter? It wasn't like there was a competition, or anything...

Hermione stood, and Draco stood beside her and offered his arm again. This time when she grabbed it, he jumped a little, quickly apparating away to disguise his shaking arm.

* * *

They landed in front of the Burrow with a thud, and Hermione felt herself pitch forward and step away from Draco. It was dark now, stars were blinking in and out of focus above them. She watched him put his hands behind his back, rocking forward on his toes.

Why wasn't she walking away? She didn't muse over it long. She would have done this with anyone, really. Even Draco. She was raised with good manners, and she would continue them. She heard Draco let out a long breath before she turned back towards him.

"I should get inside. Ron will be..."

"Waiting, yes. I figured. You should." He looked at her through his platinum lashes. "I should go."

"Yeah. They're not... they're still not all on board."

"But you are?"

It was an honest question - one she'd been asking herself pretty consistently for the past few days. "Yeah. I am."

"I'll see you in a few days then - or whenever the ministry lets us go after those names."

"I'll make sure you know. Yes. I'll see you. Goodnight, Draco."

She turned on her heel and ran, but not fast enough that she couldn't hear him behind her as she shut the door. _Goodnight, Granger. _

Harry, Ron, and half of the Weasley family were seated around the sitting room, eating little cakes and talking. The moment she set food in the room, however, conversation ceased. She acted like it hadn't.

"Good evening, everyone. What are you all doing?"

She could see, plainly, what they'd all been doing - George was halfway to dropping his cards, Charlie was looking at her as if she was speaking in a different language, Ron was resolutely staring at the table and his poor hand of cards, and Harry was forcing a smile the likes of which she hadn't seen in weeks.

She sat beside Ron at the only empty seat at the table - one that was most frequently her seat anyway. She continued on as if nothing were out of sorts, and in a few seconds, so did the rest of the group. The only person who hadn't stopped babbling the entire time was Luna, seated in a corner with an odd-looking book that she appeared to be reading to herself, upside-down. She spent most of her time at the Burrow nowadays, with her father Xenophilius still missing, and while the rest of them had all tried to spend more time with her, she seemed depressed in a way that only Luna could be - lost in her own little world. The only one she'd speak to most days was George, and even that was only for food, drink, or when she seemed completely on edge.

Card play continued on the table in front of her, and Hermione watched in silence for a moment before it ended and the group dispersed. She sat in a circle with Harry, Ron, Ginny, George, and Luna (who had apparently finished her book back to front) and let them talk idly while she waited for an opportunity to break the news. She knew it wouldn't be easy, she knew they would react badly, but Draco wanting to help was not a bad thing at all.

She couldn't wait any longer. She'd intended on owling Kingsley and letting him break the news at the meeting the next morning, but she couldn't stand it. Someone was going to have to tell them, and if she didn't it would appear as if she'd been keeping secrets from them. With a sigh that could only be made with full knowledge that she was about to bring all of the awkwardness right back into the room, she turned towards Harry.

"Malfoy will be helping us on our first mission. On any of them that he pleases, really. For him this is personal, and I don't blame him. Kingsley has already agreed to this. This means that if you don't want to work with him, you don't go on missions. You leave the task force. You'll have no more say in what happens or how we do it, and you'll be sitting here playing Exploding Snap while the rest of us are out ridding the world of the remaining Death Eaters. It's your choice. You're all in, or you're not."

As sure as anything, conversation stopped again at the name 'Malfoy'. She saw Harry's lips move, like he was attempting to speak but couldn't form words, when the room exploded into shouts and frustrated sounds.

Ginny let out a shriek. George rolled his eyes. Luna finally looked up from her book. Ron turned beet red, Percy started babbling about breaking Ministry protocols, and Charlie wouldn't look up from his feet. Hermione, to be honest, had expected worse. In sheer seconds, though, it worsened, and each and every member of the room was talking animatedly with someone else. Luna had beckoned to George, who sat beside her and flailed his arms in the air while he explained something to her. Ginny started shouting at Ron, who started shouting at Harry, who was telling Percy that Ministry protocols were the least of his concerns. Charlie still wouldn't look up from his feet.

Hermione took what little time she had to stand and leave the room, climbing the stairs two at a time until the uproar in the sitting room was little more than a buzz beneath her feet. She heard a second set of footsteps following her up and new that there was only one person with enough gall to confront her then, and his shaggy head of bright orange hair confirmed it.

"Can I talk to you? Now?" He nodded towards his bedroom door and she followed, shutting the door behind them with a click. Ron paced a few steps, and at every other step looked as if he might say something, then stopped. She watched him for a moment, transfixed. This was one of the first times that she'd ever seen him hold back his words. He was trying not to blow up. He was trying. She could kiss him, if she didn't know he was about to say something that would likely upset her anyway. After a moment, he stopped and turned to her, a pained expression on his face.

"I know... I know things are hard around here. I mean, look at this place. It's my home, but it's not like most. We've got at least thirty or forty people still camping out here, plus the bunch of us. I know I don't have money, or a place of my own, or the ability to take you places. I've been thinking about it. I know he... I know Malfoy can do those things. He took you to dinner. You have no idea how many times I've thought about just taking you out for dinner, but with about seventeen sickles to my name, I don't see that happening any time soon. I saw you outside, you know. Before you came in. I see that you're... friendly with him. How?"

"Ron, I don't expect you to understand." It was out before she could take it back, it sounded worse than it was. "He's lonely. Really lonely. Imagine... I don't want to imagine this either, but I thought about it this morning. Imagine Voldemort won. Imagine Harry had died, and your family had all run into hiding, and I was gone, and everyone was just... gone. And that you were the only person trying to do the right thing. I know, I know it's not the same. But just try and put yourself in a place where you were completely alone. Where you had information that could change things. Where you could do something right, make the world a better place. You'd do that."

"In a heartbeat."

"That's what he's doing, only a little different. He wants to help, Ron. He wouldn't be giving us these names if he didn't. He wouldn't be so adamant about helping us." She sat on Ron's bed, patting the sheets next to her. Ron sat beside her, reaching for her hand, and she laced her fingers with his, resting her head on his shoulder. He felt bad. He couldn't take her out to dinner. She wanted to say she didn't care about those things, but... it had felt _nice, _to be treated to something. To have dinner out and enjoy a nice time like she used to with her parents and their family friends. It had been so long since she'd had anything but tents and refugees and mass cooked meals and fifteen people shouting and laughing over dinner.

"No, maybe not. But I don't like seeing the two of you so comfortable. Out for dinner, or dressing for your private meeting today... heading out with someone else, stuff I wish we could do. And the way he looked at you, tonight... I wanted to tear his eyes out."

At this, Hermione suppressed a giggle. "Draco Malfoy? Look at me in any positive way? You must be mistaken. He may want to make changes for good, but he's still the boy who charmed my teeth, made fun of my hair. If you think he's... _attracted to me, _you're wrong. Very wrong."

Ron shook his head. "Maybe, maybe not. Still."

Hermione scoffed, smiling. She turned to Ron, a jokingly mad look on her face. "Honestly, Ronald, do you think Draco Malfoy could do anything at all to make me _like _him? To make me _want _him?"

Ron didn't look at her, didn't nod or shake his head. Hermione understood. "Ron, he could say anything in the world, that doesn't change that I'm a taken woman. I'm with you, and you know that. Or did you forget our own private little meeting this morning? Draco doesn't have those..."

His red cheeks betrayed him. They'd shared a heated snog in the stairway, up against the wall, while Harry took his time in the bathroom and brushed his teeth. As soon as the door opened, Ron bolted into the bathroom, leaving Harry looking supremely confused.

"See?" Hermione laid her head on Ron's shoulder, kissing it once, twice. "Those are all yours. I love you, Ron. You know that."

He nodded. "I love you too, 'Mione. I'm sorry. I just... wish I could do nice things for you."

"You think you don't do nice things for me?" She turned towards him again, catching his eye. "You did the dishes by hand the other morning when it was my turn and you were supposed to be playing Quidditch in the yard with your brothers. You brought me dessert a few weeks ago when I felt sick and stayed in bed, and then I found out it was your portion you brought me. You defended me against George's pranks all of last week. You do nice things for me all the time. Nice things don't have to involve money, or cars, or dinners. Nice things are anything you do for me that I didn't do for myself." She smiled at him, and he gave her a watery smile back.

"So you're in, Ron? You'll help?"

"Even with him... yeah, I'll be there. I can't let him hold me back."

"That's the Ron I love." She settled into his side again, staying there for a few silent moments before suggesting they rejoin the group.

She'd reminded him that she loved him, and that would be enough for now.


End file.
